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If there’s one thing Arlo’s noticed about the killer cabins, it’s that they don't inebriate the same warmth of the survivor cabins. Of course, there were lesser killers than survivors. He knew that. It makes sense that they wouldn’t need to share their cabins with each other, but sometimes he feels like some killers would like to share. Most survivors would share with their significant others, or their siblings if they didn’t have any partner. But Arlo was alone in his cabin, despite having one.
His eyes trailed to the taller man sitting in front of him, staring at his own hands. Finley didn’t share a cabin with anyone either, of course. But sometimes he felt like he wanted to, and there was another pang on Arlo’s conscience.
“Ah... hold still —” Arlo prodded at Finley’s now bandaged arm gently. He was strong, no doubt about that. Few could endure the punishments the Mist whipped out when it got displeased. But that never did help the fact that the nurse could sense Finley resisting the urge to grunt in pain, because he knew Arlo would be all the more worried. And that, somehow, made Arlo feel even worse. He glanced at Finley, who was now looking at him with grit teeth, trying to bear the pain.
Arlo’s vision felt misty. Clouded. Warm. All of those things at once, and he only realized it when something wet from his eyelid fell on Finley’s bandage. “F-Finley...” he looked away, hiding his expression. He knew Finley would feel bad, too, if he saw Arlo crying. But the other already realized this and stood up. Arlo wasn’t short, six foot was decent enough for him. But Finley nevertheless towered over him, and he felt him gently hold his wrists.
“Do you know why I keep this on my eyes?“ asked Finley quietly. Serenely. As though Arlo was made of porcelain. Arlo shook his head shakily, avoiding Finley’s gaze.
“Because they’re the only part of me still clean, Arlo,” his words seemed resentful, yet his tone was anything but. It wouldn’t be, when he was talking to the Nurse. “Which is why you can see them, if you wish.”
Arlo didn’t know if Finley was saying this for closure, comfort, or both, but he wanted to see him, too. He finally meets Finley’s gaze, eyes shining with unspilled tears. “Y... yes, please —” His hands made their way to softly caress the fish-man’s face. Finley held his waist and lifted him up so he could reach him more comfortably. Arlo tugged on his binder, seeing traces of blue and yellow through the gaps covering his eyes. He slowly, steadily unwrapped the bandages, one by one.
Beneath them were a pair of clean, bright citrine eyes that made Arlo gasp upon seeing them. He had seen sparks and flickers and had the gist of what Finley’s eyes would look like but seeing them was like staring at the sun. A gem so rare you wouldn‘t find it in the deepest depths of the ocean, in the darkest corners of the world. He kissed Finley’s fluttering eyelashes, the other’s eyes widening at the motion. Arlo pulled away and smiled softly at him.
“They’re beautiful, Finley,” he chuckled as Finley set him down. “Why hide them?”
“You’re the only one who should see,” Finley folded his arms. Despite his gentle tone, his voice was firm, “you’re the only one who can see.”
“Then, I really am lucky, aren’t I?” grimaced Arlo as Finley bent down to pull him in a tight hug. Finley took in Arlo’s dark, kind eyes and thought how unexpected, unwanted it was for him to fall for a human, but how inevitable too.
No, Arlo, thought Finley dazedly, fondly, affectionately, desperately.
I’m the one who’s lucky.